“It’s a simple question, Miguel, as I promised. Because you don’t seem the type of person to me who hides things easily. In fact, you seem like you are quite an honest person, when you aren’t being accused of murder. So why say nothing? What is motivating you?”
“I don’t know…”
“I think you do, Miguel. And I think it’s someone you trust a great deal. But you’re new to Salobreña. You said yourself you don’t know anyone. So it must be someone you’ve just met. Someone in authority. A person you respect. Someone from your work crew, perhaps? Someone like...”
The shivering wouldn’t stop. Miguel’s body shook so violently that he thought he might hurt himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of getting Jose in trouble with this man. He tried to say nothing, but his body was of his control.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Miguel screamed. The pressure was too much.
Armada handed Miguel another small loaf of bread just as the guard came rushing in through the squeaky door to see what was happening.
Armada held up his hand to the man to show everything was under control.
Miguel devoured the bread once again, which helped to calm his frayed nerves.
“I’m sorry, Miguel. You don’t deserve your hostile fate.”
With that, Armada turned and allowed the soldier to escort him out of the jail.
Having calmed himself, Miguel felt a surge of embarrassment and his whimpers could be heard echoing off the stone walls well into the night.
Chapter Six
Armada burst forth from the castle gates without acknowledging the soldier who let him out. There was no time for that. He could feel an episode coming on and he had no wish for the soldier to see.
Parked just outside the gates in the dying evening light was a well-used wooden cart, a two-wheel job, with a large iron cage bolted to the back for transporting prisoners. It was hitched to the back of a brown mule, who looked sullenly off toward the horizon while Armada's teenage page Lucas bolted upright due to the sudden appearance of Armada.
“How did it go, sir?” Lucas asked as Armada quickly climbed on to the cart.
Armada gave a look that said he was in no mood for conversation.
“Let’s just get back to the room.”
“Yes, sir.” Lucas glanced at Armada’s hand, which he had hidden in the folds of his cloak. Armada knew his efforts at concealing his trembling hand were futile. Lucas had seen it before, and the sun had not yet set enough to allow the dark to hide it. Yet Armada still felt compelled to try.
They crossed the main plaza without attracting too much attention and were soon at the door of the inn where they had checked in for the night. Armada leaped out of the cart while Lucas was busy stabling the mule, and raced upstairs to the rooms above.
Once inside, he closed the door behind him and dug through their provisions before finding what he needed most.
It was a small oak barrel, standing barely up to his knee, with a cork stopping a hole that had been drilled into the top. Armada grabbed his trusty glass goblet from his bag, yanked out the cork, and poured himself a glass of the brown liquid.
The smell hit his nose before it went into his mouth, telling him everything was all right now, relief was at hand. He swished the liquid in his mouth, letting it lay on the back of his tongue, savouring its sweetness, before it slid down his throat.
Seeing he was still alone, Armada removed his right hand from his cloak. The trembling had stopped, but it left the bitter taste of betrayal behind. When the episodes came on, it was as if his hand were not his own, moving all by itself. He still wasn’t sure why. These spells had begun just a few months ago. Lucas had noticed, but Armada explained it away as the symptom of a bit of bad fish he’d eaten the day before.
But they were occurring more regularly now. First there were the nightmares. Not exactly nightmares, but memories. They would flood his mind at the slightest provocation. Perhaps a noise would remind him of something, or a face that vaguely resembled one from the past. And suddenly his mind would be awash with a torrent of images and sounds from a former life, one he had thought he had buried long ago. He hadn’t gotten much sleep since then, for they haunted his dreams whenever he attempted to rest, as if the past were creeping ever closer to him, waiting to pounce from just behind his eyelids. Although many years had passed since that awful time, it still felt as though it were yesterday.
This time, it had been the smell. That room, not fit for the vilest of beast, was built as if no smell was ever allowed to escape, a musky cocktail of dampness, excrement, and death. A smell Armada knew well. His hand had begun to shake almost immediately and he was thankful Miguel had turned away from him, or avoided Armada’s gaze, for much of their conversation.
Armada stopped himself. He had to stay focused on the present. The sherry had worked its magic. Everything was back to normal. And there was a case to think about.
Armada was already through most of his first glass when Lucas entered the room.
“How is it, sir? Did the oloroso survive the trip?” Lucas asked.
“Yes, Lucas, you packed it well. Thank you.” Armada made sure to hold the glass in his right hand, to show Lucas all was well.
“And you’re feeling…better…?”
Armada’s first reaction was to be annoyed at Lucas, but he stopped himself. It wasn’t the boy’s fault for worrying. Weren’t Lucas’ own fortunes wrapped up with Armada’s? He was, after all, in Armada’s employ, and without his wages, Lucas would have nothing. The boy was still young, barely fourteen, but not as naïve as he had once been. He still refused to cut his hair in any fashionable way, preferring instead to cut it himself. It left his dead-straight, sandy brown tresses ragged on the ends, and left to grow long in front, which covered his eyes much of the time. These days, the hair covered the spectacles that Armada had bought for him last year, which the boy wore constantly except to sleep. Together with his simple tunic, hat, and belt ensemble, and sometimes a basic black coat in the winter, his appearance left little doubt as to Lucas’ farming origins.
Armada hadn’t noticed it at first, but over the years the boy had developed a keen eye for observation. It had helped with many cases, but Armada found it irritating when that eye was cast on Armada himself. Theirs was a working relationship, and as such not everything was available to share. There were things about himself that Armada simply didn’t need to tell the boy, especially when it came to his past.
“I’m fine, Lucas, of course. What we should be worried about is this case.”
“Your suspicions were right then.”
“It was hardly a surprise. Miguel Guillen couldn’t tell me anything about his motivation for killing Amparo Rodriguez. And now I’m expected to take this poor man back to Granada where they will seize all his worldly possessions and throw him in a dungeon until his case is decided, which could take months.”
“So, what are you going to do, sir?”
Armada rose so he could pace while holding his sherry glass, his preferred stance when he needed to think.
“It is the motivation that doesn’t make sense here. If Miguel is innocent, then what would motivate him to hide it from me? He knows full well the consequences of being convicted of murder. Someone like Miguel doesn’t decide to do such a thing on his own. He must have been coerced.”
“One of the other men, then?”
“Or all of them. But if it is a conspiracy…” Armada said, his voice trailing off. He took another drink of sherry. “Even the motivation of that doesn’t make sense,” he went on. “Why kill Amparo this way? They must have known it risked an investigation. Why not just abduct him one night and bury him out in a field? These men were either very sloppy, or something went very wrong. Either way, I want to know why the killer or killers felt the need to risk so much to get rid of Amparo.”
Armada was surprised to already see the bottom of his glass again. He was tempted to refill it, but knew he should save what was in the
barrel. The case was already threatening to go on longer than expected and he’d only been in town a few hours. He might need to save the rest for later.
“I’m going to try and get to know the victim better tomorrow. I need to find out what kind of a man this Amparo Rodriguez was. See if anyone else besides Miguel would want to kill him,” Armada said.
“I could maybe have a look around the field where he was killed, sir. See if it all happened the way they said it did,” said Lucas.
“Absolutely not. As I have said countless times, murders are about people and understanding their motivations. So, it is the people that every murder investigation must focus on. I see no reason for you to risk your life trespassing around an empty field when there is nothing to learn there. I would appreciate it if tomorrow you focus on the duties I pay you for.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas said. “But we’re expected to return to Granada first thing tomorrow. The innkeeper told me the town council has only paid for this room for the one night. He wants us out by ten in the morning.”
Armada went to his coat and took out a handful of coins from a small coin purse in the pocket. He handed them to Lucas.
“Then give this to the man and tell him we will be staying a bit longer.”
Lucas looked over the coins. “Sir, this is five reales. That will pay for a week, at least.”
“Yes. Experience tells me my money will not be wasted,” Armada said.
“Yes, sir.”
Armada felt the need for a bit of fresh air and turned toward the window. He pushed open the wood shutters and was treated to a view that looked out over the main plaza, a large rectangular patch of bare soil in the middle of town ringed on all sides by the clay-tiled rooftops of the houses opposite. The only prominent feature was the public fountain just off to Armada’s left, which glistened in the white light of the nearly-full moon sitting low on the southern horizon. A bracing wind cooled off the night, heralding the coming of autumn when the nights would bring a chill.
Armada listened for a moment at the cacophony of crickets, toads, and squawking night birds, trying to distract himself from the memory of that face. The face, the one that so resembled Miguel’s, the one of that poor man so long ago, amongst so many others. Bruised and battered like Miguel, his blood mixing with the war paint still streaked across his cheeks, death in his eyes. Those eyes now gazed up at Armada, at the soldier now holding the pike above his head, ready to…
“Sir?”
“Yes, Lucas, what is it?” Armada shot back.
“I said do you want me to prepare the beds now?”
Armada knew it was getting late, but was in no mood to go to bed. There would be little sleep tonight. The sooner he got to bed, the longer he would have to stare up at the ceiling, listening to Lucas’ incessant snoring from the bed opposite, watching the shadows move across the back wall, his mind chewing on a case with which he had little information to work on. It would be a long night spent trying to hold the memories at bay, sometimes winning…and sometimes losing…
Sometimes, all the sherry in the world couldn’t help. And after his episode in the castle, he had little doubt this was one of those nights.
“Yes, of course Lucas. Let’s turn in early. It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas said before starting work on unpacking their linens and spreading them out over the two goose-feather beds in the room. Armada just wanted everything to appear normal, in case Lucas had any doubts about his mental state that night. They both knew it was a deception, but it still helped to settle Armada’s nerves somehow.
He only hoped it would settle Lucas’ as well.
Chapter Seven
It was quite early the next morning when a knock at the door startled Armada. The sun was just peeking over the hills to the east after having spent the past two hours slowly turning the cold, black sky into a brilliant shade of deep royal blue. There were farmers on the delta who had gotten an early start on their burn, filling the air with a wispy black haze that made the light shimmer, as if all of Salobreña had been suddenly plunged underwater.
Outside the window, Armada had spent the past few hours listening to the sounds of thin leather boots scraping over the pebble-strewn soil as the farmers made their way to the fields, punctuated by the occasional braying of donkeys, and the constant jangling of the metal farm implements hooked on to their saddles. These sounds were mixed with soft conversations and occasional chuckling of labourers in no particular hurry to begin their difficult work for the day.
Lucas, of course, had been sleeping like a baby since early the previous evening and Armada could only look on with jealousy. How was it the boy was able to sleep so soundly? Armada couldn’t remember a time when he’d been able to do that. From his earliest days in the army, sleep had always been elusive at best.
He’d been in the middle of these thoughts when there came a loud knocking on the wooden door.
Armada rose and opened the door to a rather short man, bald and quite rotund, who stood before him in extravagant clothing as if he would soon be expected at court. He wore layer upon layer of embroidered satin and velvet that hung low over his breeches made of black silk and buckled shoes laced high up on his calf. Underneath a long coat covered in buttons and silver inlays lay a brightly-coloured doublet with a modest ruff erupted from its collar, which made his wide head look as though it were being served on a platter.
Behind him stood a woman about his same age, much shorter, wearing an expensive but modestly dyed blue dress, her hair tied up in a matching coif. She said nothing, preferring to stand against the back wall, mostly out of sight.
“Domingo Armada?” this man asked, holding his chin up and gazing at Armada with suspicious eyes.
“Yes,” Armada said.
“I am Pablo de Ortega, alcalde of Salobreña. This is my wife Ines Ortega. May I come in?”
Armada stepped aside to allow the over-dressed man to enter. Instead of following him, his wife only smiled hospitably and lowered her gaze, as if not wanting to be noticed.
“It was very nice to have met you,” she said in almost a whisper, allowing Armada to give her the customary light kiss on each cheek before turning and returning down the corridor to go back outside.
Back inside, Armada found Ortega glancing at Lucas still sleeping in the corner. The alcalde lowered his voice.
“Should we perhaps speak outside?”
“It is no bother,” Armada said in a normal volume. “Lucas can sleep through cannon-fire. Now how can I help you, alcalde?”
“Well, I mostly wanted to introduce myself. The letter to the Holy Brotherhood was sent at my request, you see. I was a bit surprised, frankly, that you had come to town without informing me or anyone on the council of your arrival. We would have organised a proper reception.”
This was exactly what Armada had hoped to avoid. He hated the political pomp and circumstance that sometimes followed his visits. The Brotherhood was feared, but there was also a great deal to be gained by having them in one’s favour, especially if one had ambitious political aspirations, as this man no doubt did. Armada had little time to play such games. It would consume nearly all of his time if he let it. And for some of his brothers, it was exactly this sort of thing that they lived for. But Armada had more important goals.
“That wouldn’t have been necessary,” Armada said. “I’m only here for a short time anyway.”
“Yes, nine days, to be exact.”
It was one of the few decrees that reined in the power of the Brotherhood somewhat. An old decree, signed centuries ago yet still in effect, which limited to nine days the powers of the Brotherhood to arrest people, interrogate witnesses, and seize property. After that, the law stated those powers would be annulled. It wasn’t a rule many people knew well, so it was curious that Ortega did.
“And two of those days have already passed,” Ortega said. “You have barely a week, if my counting is right.”
“I doubt I will nee
d as much time as that,” Armada said. “Sherry?”
Ortega nodded and Armada poured two small glasses from his barrel, handing one to Ortega. They toasted their glasses together.
“Here’s to putting away that dirty morisco for his crimes,” Ortega said.
“Here’s to justice,” Armada said and they both drank.
Ortega glanced about the room. “Do you not carry a weapon? I thought all of the Brothers were required to do so. You are a military order, are you not?”
“Indeed we are. And when going after bandits or thieves, I wouldn’t dream of not having one,” Armada said. “However, when it comes to murder, it is quite a different beast. Cunning is required, not strength. A weapon only puts people on the defence, when for my work, I need them to trust me.”
Ortega smiled, then threw his head back in a laugh. “Your reputation precedes you, Señor Armada. You are an odd one indeed! Salobreña counts itself lucky that the Brotherhood chose to send you here to our little pueblo, especially as you have come all the way from Granada. Quite a long trip. I just wonder if it was necessary, as there is a chapter of your Brotherhood much closer, in Almuñécar. The council has expenses to worry about, you understand.”
Armada had to step carefully. It was obvious the alcalde had not come out of concern of Salobreña’s finances. In fact, much of the time Armada travelled about Andalucía at his own expense, which granted him the ability to apply his skills to those cases that needed them most, rather than to those where his fees could be more easily paid. No, this man was fishing for information about the case itself, and this got Armada’s attention. Why was he so worried, that he would come to see Armada this early in the morning, reducing the possibility he would be spotted having this conversation? A strange reception indeed.
“I assure you, alcalde, additional fees will not be required. The Brotherhood saw fit to send me based purely on my experience with murder cases, which can sometimes be difficult to ensure that due process of law is followed. Without interference, of course.”
Domingo Armada Omnibus Page 4
